


far away to a place where i'm free from the weight

by lacecat



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Queer Relationship, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, cisswap au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Guerin has to hand it to her, people at Roswell High gossip when girls are suspected to have worn the same shoes to both homecoming and prom, let alone when they show up after winter break with a healing nose piercing.If she takes an interest in Alex Manes from afar, watches her from across the bleachers or the classroom, well, it’s because by then she’s in school to avoid unwanted attention rather than learning anything new, and she’s bored.And Alex Manes is anything but boring, it turns out.





	far away to a place where i'm free from the weight

**Author's Note:**

> this is where I shrug and go "SINCE NO ONE ELSE WROTE THIS YET": part 1 of ??????
> 
> aka the bi alien and the lesbian punk are in love
> 
> (cw for some homophobic language/shorter version of the shed scene, and implied abuse)

When the Evans came to the group home, they expected to adopt a single child. They left with two that day, and Isobel and Max Evans are given a chance at a good life.

 

They don’t adopt the second girl who had been brought in with them, the one with the manic eyes as she paints the same symbol over and over again on the wall, because she needs help. Help that the Evans can’t afford, help that they hope that someone will be able to provide.

 

The social workers make sympathetic noises, assure them that they’re already doing the right thing by coming here in the first place, even as they know that no one is going to adopt a girl like _that one_.

 

Guerin supposes that was the first time that she learned that help doesn’t just come out of nowhere, not for her. That independence is the sweetest freedom, and the loneliest road all at once. That at the end of the day, she has herself to rely on, and herself to help.

 

Throughout all the subsequent group homes and foster homes, she reminds herself of that. She doesn’t let herself imagine another universe in which she left with the Evans that day. It’s not useful to dwell on the what-ifs, and so she doesn’t let herself dream of anything else.

 

 

•••

 

 

At thirteen, she’s staring at the body of a dead man, Max hyperventilating at her side, Isobel still shaking with terror.

 

“What are you doing?” Max whispers in horror, as Guerin wills the sand to pile on top of the body, the evidence of the crime to be buried forever.

 

“I’m fixing this,” she says, eyes not leaving the man, even as her hands begin to shake. She wills them to still, mostly so that the other two don’t notice. She’s always been the strong one, and this doesn’t change anything.

 

“I'm fixing it,” she repeats, or maybe just to convince herself. 

 

 

•••

 

 

By the time she’s sixteen, Guerin’s well aware of her reputation in Roswell. That she’s only a cheap drink away from a tumble in the back of her truck, that she’s already been to juvie, that she got out of said juvie early by sleeping with an officer, or that she’ll break a girl’s nose and steal their boyfriend just for the fun of it.

 

Really, she’s only hooked up with a boy once in the back of the truck, and it was a cramped, hurried encounter that no one would really like to repeat again.

 

If anything, she plays into the rumors, because the more people think that their expectations of her fit, the less they think about her, and the less potential there is for any questions to be asked. She’s been on her own since she struck out from the evangelists, though legally she’s still under their foster care, and that independence is probably the happiest she’s ever been in her life.

 

Which, maybe, low bar. But it means that she wears her jeans scandalously low on her hips to disguise how worn they are, her shirts unbuttoned low enough and tight around her chest so that no one recognizes them as once belonging to her brother. Her sly smile is one that makes men cocky and so, so careless, so she's able to hide the fact that she’s able to take the A.P. physics tests for players on the football team when she’s a little short on money.

 

Sanders lets her work in the back of the junkyard for some extra cash, once she’s convinced him that for a teenage girl, she’s _really_ good at fixing things. It suits her fine, especially it means Sanders deals with the customers that wouldn’t believe she would know the difference between a nut and a screw, and she takes on whatever work he can throw her way.

 

It helps, of course, that she never loses any bolts in the depths of a tractor motor, or that she can manage to drop an engine with suspicious speed - she's more than a little glad that Sanders spends so much time drinking, he's never around, and so she can use her powers to cheat on some of the more physical elements of the work. 

 

Isobel and Max worry about her sometimes, she knows. Guerin hides her problems from them because they’re her siblings, and at the end of the day, there’s so much more they have to be worried about. They’re in her life now, and they love her, and she loves them - and that’s enough.

 

 

•••

 

 

She doesn’t remember the first time she meets Alex Manes. For a few years, Guerin vaguely knows her as one of Liz Ortecho’s friends, always hanging out with Maria DeLuca and that crowd. They probably have a few distant interactions in labs or study halls that are altogether unmemorable, though she'll spend years in the future wracking her mind, because how could she not notice her?

 

Guerin knows way too much about Liz Ortecho then, though, because Max has been in love with her for _ages_ , and he tends to get all mopey-eyed and awkward when she serves them at the alien-themed diner in town, much to her and Isobel’s amusement. But she doesn’t think much of Alex Manes for the longest time.

 

But Alex - and it’s just Alex, since she refuses to go or acknowledge Alexis or Alexandria or whatever her name really is - comes back to school junior year, and she becomes the latest hot source of gossip at Roswell High.

 

She leaves an awkward, unmemorable teenage girl, and she comes back with a choppy haircut, the bottom few inches of her hair bleached and dyed bright red with gummy semi-permanent dye. She wears tee shirts of bands that no one else listens to, striped tights and skinny jeans and too-short black painted nails. Alex Manes holds her head up high when girls viciously whisper by their lockers when she walks by when boys take in her plaid shirts and disinterest in them and call her _that emo bitch_ behind her back if they’re being kind about it.

 

Guerin has to hand it to her, people at Roswell High gossip when girls are suspected to have worn the same shoes to both homecoming and prom, let alone when they show up after winter break with a healing nose piercing.

 

If she takes an interest in Alex Manes from afar, watches her from across the bleachers or the classroom, well, it’s because by then she’s in school to avoid unwanted attention rather than learning anything new, and she’s bored.

 

And Alex Manes is anything but boring, it turns out.

 

 

•••

 

 

“Guerin!” She hears the shout, and she gets in one more strum on the guitar before Alex Manes is rounding the corner, looking furious as she comes to the back of the truck where she’s been lounging in the sun since third period.

 

She yanks the guitar from Guerin’s hands. “What the hell? You can’t just steal instruments from the music room.”

 

“I was gonna return it,” Guerin says in protest, raising her hands, “And it was out of tune, so you’re welcome.”

 

She likes playing the guitar, likes the way the music centers her and makes her forget about the outside of the world for a bit. Though now, she’s thinking there’s another appeal to smuggling the guitars out, as Alex Manes stands in front of her, all flashing eyes and dark winged eyeliner that can only be appreciated from this close.

 

Alex frowns. “You can’t just steal things,” she repeats, “What if one of the teachers had caught you?”

  
  
“Guess I’m lucky that you did,” Guerin says, flashing her a smirk. “You gonna turn me in?”

 

Alex slides her eyes back to behind her, to the truck. “You really do live in your truck, don’t you?” she asks, and Guerin resists the urge to push back the sleeping back and blankets out of sight.

 

“All the rumors about you true?” Guerin throws back, and Alex’s eyes narrow.

 

“No matter how many satanic rituals I apparently do, things at my house still suck,” Alex says flatly, “So there’s your answer.”

 

She turns to go, and the light catches on her studded belt. Guerin finds herself saying, “Wouldn’t have guessed that you’d know where to come find me.”

 

Alex stops, and she continues, “Gotta hand it to you, you’re not so goody-two-shoes after all - I mean, shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

 

“I could say the same,” Alex says coolly, but she turns back, raises a dark eyebrow. “You’re not worried about catching lesbian cooties talking to me?”

 

“Eh,” Guerin says. “I have a great immune system.”

 

That makes Alex snort. She lifts the guitar. “Didn’t think you knew or cared how to play.”

 

“What can I say, I’m a woman of mystery,” Guerin says. “You use one for your rituals or something?”

  
  
“Hilarious,” Alex says shortly, but when Guerin just waits instead of sniping something else, she slowly adds, nearly challenging, “I’m learning still. I’m going to be a songwriter one day.”

 

“Huh,” Guerin says, then, “I can see it.”

 

Alex regards her for a long moment as if to suss out any hostility in her words, but Guerin just meets her gaze. She seems to settle on saying, “I’ve got to head back.”

 

  
“Fine by me,” Guerin says, feeling amused as Alex turns once again to go.

 

About half a dozen steps away, Alex slows down. Without fully turning back, she says, “There's this toolshed out behind my house. It's warm, and I go there when things get bad.”

  
  
Guerin blinks. The implication there is evident, though she throws out, “I’m not some princess charity case.”

  
  
“Never said you were,” Alex says, “Just so you know,” before continuing to walk away.

 

Guerin watches her go, feeling distinctly off-kilter at this turn to events. For the first time in a long time, she feels something far warmer than anger, and far more terrifying, even, start to grow.

 

 

•••

 

 

When the weather grows especially cold, Guerin decides the risk is worth it, and she spends a few nights in the tool shed instead of shivering in the dark of her truck. 

 

If Alex notices that there’s an occupant in the shed, she doesn’t confront Guerin about it. They don’t talk, not really, but sometimes, Guerin will turn her head from the back of the classroom to look at Alex on the other side of the room, and she’ll find that Alex’s dark eyes are already on her.

 

The feeling grows.

 

 

•••

 

 

Isobel convinces her to come to prom along with her and Max. “I have a dress you could wear,” she says imploringly one day, over milkshakes at the Crashdown. “I’ll do your hair, and I’ll look away if you really insist on spiking the punch.”

 

“Oh, I’m definitely taking a flask with me,” Guerin says. Max is busy making eyes in Liz Ortecho’s direction, and she kicks him in the shin under the table. “She making you go, too?”

 

“Yeah,” Max says distantly, a blush coming to his cheeks when Liz waves at him. He raises his hand as if to answer, and nearly knocks over his milkshake. Guerin twitches her fingers under the table so that the glass rights itself just in time.

 

“We’ll take a cute photo together,” Isobel says, looking like she’s already planning it in her head, “Max, for your boutonniere - red or white?”

 

“Yeah,” Max says again, eyes still on Liz. Guerin hides her laugh by stuffing another handful of French fries in her mouth.

 

The night of prom, Isobel does something to her curls that makes them stay contained in a bun pinned low on the nape of her neck. Guerin threatens physical harm when Isobel approaches her with an eyelash curler. But when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she has to admit, she looks pretty good in the strapless dress.

 

Isobel is radiant in her own peach-colored dress, attaching flowers to Max’s collar. “I was going to buy a corsage for you, too,” she says to Guerin, “But I figured you would toss it in the garbage.”

 

“Aw, Iz, you know me too well,” Guerin tells her, and Isobel fondly tugs at a strand of hair that’s escaping in front of her ear.

 

 

•••

 

 

Prom is pretty much what she expected. Shitty DJ, awkward dancing, teenage hormones and too-high expectations floating above them all, among the ugly star decorations hanging from the ceiling.

 

Guerin lounges in one of the chairs pulled into the corner, heels long discarded on the ground. Isobel has gone to talk to some of the girls in her class, and Max is on the edge of his seat beside her, watching Liz Ortecho in a red dress from across the room.

 

Only then Alex Manes walks in, and Guerin finds herself sitting up, feet landing on the ground. Max glances over at her sudden gesture, then follows her gaze.

 

Alex is wearing a _suit_ , silver jacket and pants complete with a black tie and suspenders. Her hair is tied back from her face, and she’s already glancing around defiantly, as people start to whisper. She’s got even more piercings in her ears than normal, and the light from the giant disco ball catches that damn nose piercing, and she looks - well. Guerin can’t drag her eyes away.

 

“Huh,” Max says from beside her, as Guerin continues to stare, “Is that Alex Manes?”

 

Guerin swallows, watching as Alex makes her way over to the punch bowl. “Yeah,” she says, then quickly, “I guess.”

 

She’s nearly afraid to turn back to look at Max, only he’s not looking at her when she does dare glance back. His eyes are back on Liz, and Guerin exhales.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

Later, Guerin and Max go outside for some fresh air, and that’s when they hear the commotion.

 

Around the corner, behind some shrubs, Guerin recognizes Valenti and some of his friends. Then she sees Alex, who seems to be trying to walk away, only Valenti says something in a decidedly nasty tone that makes her shoulders stiffen, and she whirls around.

 

“ - going to say something, just say it,” she hears Alex say, heatedly. Guerin doesn’t know they’re moving until both she and Max are coming up around the corner, just a little ways away from them.

 

“I see the way you look at her,” Valenti says in a nasty tone, and something in Guerin’s stomach runs cold, “So I’m warning you, Manes - “

 

On the other side of Valenti’s jock friends, Guerin sees Liz Ortecho emerge in that bright red dress. “Kyle?” she asks. “What are you doing?”

 

Valenti immediately reduces his menacing posture, but doesn’t move away from Alex. Guerin can hear Alex say, “What - you don’t want her to hear what you just called me?”

 

“Stay away from my girlfriend,” Valenti repeats, “Everyone can see the way you look at her, you know.”

 

“Liz is my best friend,” Alex retorts, and Guerin can’t see her expression, but can imagine the set of her jaw as she says, “I think that she might care that you just called her best friend a dyke - “

 

Valenti takes a threatening step forward, and for a moment, Guerin wonders if he’s truly about to get to get physical with a girl, with _Alex,_ or maybe he really doesn't want his girlfriend to hear whatever he did call her.

 

Only they’ll never know, because in the next moment, Alex must read that gesture, and she cocks her fist back, and she punches Valenti straight in the face.

 

Liz must gasp, or maybe it’s anyone else in the small crowd around them, but Guerin is only aware that she’s running forward, and as Valenti shoves her back instinctively, Guerin puts herself in between them.

 

She slaps at Valenti’s arm while pushing Alex back, shouts, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Valenti’s look of shock on his face as he holds his broken nose is priceless enough. She’s half tempted to go all Carrie on his ass, only she can’t see herself ever stopping.

 

One of his friends catcalls something, but the blood is pounding in Guerin’s ears enough so that she can’t quite hear, even as Valenti steps back. She can feel Alex’s hand around her wrist.

 

Then she looks at Alex, who’s staring at her like she’s the one who cold-cocked Kyle Valenti. “Are you okay?” Guerin asks her.

 

Alex’s eyes are searching, roaming all over her. “I’m fine,” she says, running a hand through her hair - and then she’s moving away from Guerin, turning and walking away.

 

Guerin follows her with her eyes, before looking at Max. He raises his eyebrows as if to silently ask her, _what was that?_

 

“God,” Guerin says like an answer, “I hate prom.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

She skips graduation in favor of going for a long drive in her truck. With the wind whistling through the open window, ruffling her hair, it’s easy to forget everything beyond the cracked pavement that stretches out in front of her.

 

It’s just past nightfall when she comes back to Roswell, and Guerin slows down a little when she sees a figure trudging along the road just outside of town - probably some drunk, given the shuffling gait.

 

Then she gets closer, and the headlights better illuminate the figure’s shirt - the logo of some band that she doesn’t recognize. Guerin slams on the brakes, and the figure turns.

 

She sticks her head out the window. “Manes! Get in the car!”

 

Alex looks like she’s about to decline, only then Guerin adds, “I’m not leaving.”

 

Alex slides into the truck, and Guerin frowns when she takes in the way she’s holding her arm, the growing bruises around her wrist. “What happened to you?”

 

Alex just shakes her head, her face drawn. “Thanks,” she says instead, “I just needed to - get away for a bit.”

 

That, Guerin can understand. She puts the car into drive.

 

She finds herself driving in the direction of the mines, out of all places. As they go, she sneaks a sideways glance at Alex, who’s gazing out the windshield with faraway eyes.

 

They pull up to some deserted lot, and Guerin turns off her headlights. Reaching in front of Alex’s knees and opening the glovebox, she says, “As you can see, I had some important plans to make,” and she manages to pull out the joint that had been stashed there.

 

“I can tell,” Alex deadpans.

 

They go sit in the back of the truck, and as Guerin lights up, she watches Alex’s dusty sneakers drag a little as she swings them. She still hasn’t said anything about the bruises, and Guerin knows better than to press. Though the thought of someone putting their hands on her, it makes her want to rage out, make something explode, make someone pay - though she knows very well that this world is one that never allows for such satisfaction, not in the end.

 

In the dark, she tries to make out Alex’s features beyond her silhouette. But Alex just stares ahead, seemingly lost in thought.

 

Finally, she says, “Do you ever feel like you’re trapped?”

 

Guerin exhales smoke. “Yeah,” she says. She’s got a full ride to UNM in her back pocket, her ticket out of Roswell, and yet she’s still on this planet for the foreseeable future. After a moment, she offers the joint to Alex.

 

After a moment, Alex takes it. She takes a too-deep drag and ends up coughing, hard. Guerin smirks and means to slap her back, only her hand makes contact and decides to stay there.

 

She can feel the bones in Alex’s arm shift as she passes it back, croaks, “That’s disgusting.”

 

“Knew you were straightedge,” Guerin mocks, hand slipping down to the bare skin of Alex’s arm before she can stop herself - and she disguises it by shoving her a little, then letting go.

 

She takes another drag and resolutely doesn’t think about how Alex’s mouth had been on it just a few seconds ago.

 

Alex pulls her feet up, and after a little maneuvering, she sits perpendicular to Guerin, the toes of her shoes just barely nudging the outer seam of Guerin’s jeans. Guerin looks down, reads what look like song lyrics stretching out over the toes, curling up along the rivets, like she can start to understand any of her with such study.

 

She’s never been one for poetry, preferring her equations and proofs, but she thinks she understands the appeal, as her eyes trace the words that Alex has chosen there, up to the sliver of skin above her ankle, where some of the ink has rubbed off already. That even if the words are temporary, the meaning still holds.

 

And it’s always about finding the meaning, isn’t it?

 

 

 

•••

 

 

June brings with it dusty heat during the day, then a kind of inescapable chill at night. With school over, Guerin finds herself staying in the tool shed more often than not.

 

She’s aimlessly sketching rocket ships alongside her calculations on overcoming gravity in the tool shed when she hears footsteps outside.

 

She gets up in a flash, notebook in hand and ready to book it out the window, but then the door opens and Alex is coming in with her hands raised in caution - or rather, one hand, since the other is carrying a guitar. “Guerin, it’s fine,” she says, as Guerin must look at her with some panic, “I offered, remember?”

 

“I can go,” she offers. Her truck’s just around the corner, and it’s not like she brings much stuff with her in here.

 

But Alex shakes her head. “I told you,” she says, coming to sit on the bed. She’s in a tee-shirt with the sleeves roughly cut off, her shoulders rounded and pale against the black material. “I’m glad you’re staying here. It gets cold at night.”

 

After a moment, Guerin sits back down too and blinks at the guitar resting against the cot between them.

 

“For you,” Alex says, nodding to the guitar, “I thought you could use it.”

 

“You’re giving it up?” Guerin picks it up, tests the strings. It’s a nice instrument, even in tune this time.

 

“Only after it didn’t work for my blood ritual,” Alex replies, and Guerin lets out a surprised laugh.

 

She sobers up, though. “Why are you being nice to me?”

 

“Not everyone has some agenda,” Alex tells her. “They can just be nice to each other for no reason, sometimes.”

 

“Not in my experience,” Guerin says, biting the inside of her cheek, and something sad travels across Alex’s face. She sets the guitar between her legs, adjusts the tuners. “You’re strange, you know?”

 

“Never heard that before,” Alex says dryly, and for the second time, Guerin laughs.

 

She’s about to snark some response, only when she looks up, Alex is suddenly impossibly, perfectly close to her. She opens her mouth, and Alex’s eyes fall down to her mouth - and the moment is suspended.

 

Guerin breathes out, once, and she can tell that Alex can feel her breath on her mouth, and her tongue darts out to wet the corner of her mouth. She’s never wanted something so much before, even as it catches her by surprise, the intensity of that feeling growing the more she considers it right in front of her. They lean a little closer together-

 

Then Guerin’s jerking her head back, all on instinct, looking down to the guitar in her arms. There’s a few beats of silence, and then she picks it up, starts to play once again, refusing to look beside her - ignoring how much she _wanted_ it -

 

Alex doesn’t leave, though, as Guerin is trapped by her tormented thoughts. Eventually, Guerin ventures out loud, “Is it - yours?”

  
  
“My brother’s,” Alex says, and she can hear her hesitate for a moment before saying, “My dad tried to throw it out. He’s been getting ready of my posters and stuff, too. Thinks I’m being corrupted by them.”

 

Guerin switches the chords to some other song she’d heard on the radio, trying to mimic the sounds for a few long minutes, even as her mind slips ever few seconds when she thinks about Alex's mouth. 

 

She finds herself eventually saying, “It’s the only thing that makes me feel quiet.”

 

The cot creaks under them a little as Alex shifts to lean back on her hands. “Quiet?”

 

“I have all this chaos going on inside me all the time, and all I want to do is get away from myself.” She shifts her fingers. “But then I play, and my - my entropy changes. Everything goes quiet.”

 

She can hear Alex exhale. Out of the corner of her eye, Guerin sees Alex lean her head back, her hair spilling out on the blanket in bright green and black strands.

 

“I admire you,” Alex says unexpectedly, and Guerin nearly drops the guitar. When she looks, Alex’s eyes are closed. “You wear what you want, you do what you want - you don’t care what others think.”

 

Guerin would laugh, but she holds it in lest Alex interprets it as she’s making fun of her. The truth is so far from the opposite - she _has_ to care what people think about, the fact of the matter that she shifts her image so that no one looks twice at her, considers anything beyond misfit, no-good, slut, human -

 

She tries to pass it off. “I don’t know, I”m not the one who pulls on those platform boots in a New Mexico summer,” she jokes, sounding weak even to her own ears.

 

“I mean it,” Alex says, eyes opening just a little, meeting Guerin’s. “I wish I could be that brave.”

 

 _You’re the bravest person I know_ , Guerin thinks.

 

Alex thinks that she’s the one who looks relaxed when she plays, but right here and now, Alex is the one who looks like she’s finally letting the tension bleed from her body, as lost in the music as Guerin usually is. Guerin adjusts her position a little so she can sneak glances at Alex as she plays, watch as Alex’s head tilts back further onto the cot, the long line of her neck moving slightly as she breathes.

 

She’s ever aware of Alex’s presence even as she plays, and it should distract her, only she feels as calm as she would be alone, plucking at the strings.

 

Alex doesn’t leave, and so they sit there, listening to Guerin play, and they find that they don’t need to talk.

 

And then, she thinks, she knows.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

“We had a moment,” Max tells Guerin over the formica of the diner table, and his eyes are bright because he’s about to ask out Liz Ortecho, and their whole lives stretch out in front of them, so ripe with possibility. “That's one of those moments that, like, I feel like it's worth fighting for.”

 

Guerin thinks of Alex, and she says, “I know those moments.”

 

 

•••

 

 

 

She’s eighteen, and she’s desperately in love with Alex Manes.

 

She loves her in the way that if she was stripped down past her bare bones, down to every molecule that had collected and formed her at one point in time, they would all orient themselves around that kind of love. She loves her in the way that Alex spends hours carefully etching lyrics onto her canvas sneakers, the kind of quiet dedication there. She loves her in the way that Max longingly stares after Liz. She loves her in the way that the sun flares bright and hot across the desert in the afternoon, rising day after day to chase away the cold eventually. She loves her in the way that when she plays the guitar, her mind no longer goes quiet - she thinks about Alex, and her entropy focuses down onto one point of being, one human who’s managed to capture her existence in this manner, bringing with it a new level of peace unlike anything before she had thought possible.

 

So when Alex kisses her back in the UFO museum, she feels that moment in every part of her. As her hands tangle in her hair, she forgets about the museum around them, the reminder of the differences between them, and she falls even more in love.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

They go to the toolshed as soon as Alex is done with her shift. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s the dumbest and best decision of Guerin’s life, to be standing here, watching as Alex ducks her head, a little shy even as her fingers toy at the bottom of Guerin’s tee shirt.

 

Looking at Guerin through her eyelashes, she says, “Have you ever - “

 

“Done this?” Guerin says, a laugh bubbling out of her chest. And God, she hadn’t even been this nervous the first time she’d slept with a guy, but it feels right, the way that Alex’s hands felt on her, the way that for the first time in a long time, she feels _safe_. “Uh, yeah. But not with - “

 

“With a girl?” Alex supplies and they both giggle, nervous energy sparking around them.

 

“And, um, not with someone that I've liked as much as I like you,” Guerin confesses, and Alex’s eyes go round and soft all at once.

 

She steps forward, right into Guerin’s space. “We don’t have to do anything,” Alex says, “We can just - “

 

“I want to,” Guerin says, and she leans down, boldly licks a line down Alex’s neck. It’s entirely too forward, but then Alex is gasping, and her hands slide fully under Guerin’s shirt, running along the soft skin at the small of her back.

 

That makes Guerin jolt forward, just as Alex stretches up to kiss her, resulting in a much less sexy clash of teeth. Alex makes a muffled sound of annoyance, and Guerin laughs, ducking her head into the crook between Alex’s neck and shoulder.

 

“Okay,” she says, reaching down to help Alex take off her own shirt. “Baby steps, all right?”

 

She half expects Alex to glare at her, only Alex looks transfixed by the amount of skin that’s suddenly visible, given she’s forgone wearing a bra. Her hands slide up and around, tracing ever so carefully along her sides, the skin right under her breasts, and Guerin feels ready to burst out of her own skin at the unintentionally teasing touch.

 

Or maybe it’s very intentional, given the glint in Alex’s eye, as she leans forward to press a kiss right in the middle of her clavicle. Guerin slides her hands up the back of Alex’s neck before she’s guiding them both back to the cot, feet between feet and hands clutching at each other, unwilling to let go for too long.

 

She gets out, “Do you want - “

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Alex emphasizes, and when the back of her calves hits the bed, Guerin sits down with a huff, tugging Alex down with her.

 

Then Alex is on her lap, all warm and heavy, and she feels like she could die now and be happy. The ends of Alex’s hair, now dyed a bright teal-blue, stick to the sides of her neck as she leans in, kisses Guerin, makes her forget anything other than the slide of their mouths together, the way Alex’s nose presses against hers, the way she shudders when Guerin rubs her hips with her thumbs, grounding her with every touch.

 

They manage to get Alex’s shirt off next, then those ridiculous skinny jeans, somehow without getting too far from each other. Guerin revels in the way that they fit together, her thigh between Alex’s, Alex hauling her in for another desperate kiss, the way that she pulls at Guerin’s hair when Guerin slides her fingers against her just right, the way that Guerin can tug her even closer, bury her face in her neck when she comes.

 

God, she loves her.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Whew,” Guerin says once she slides on her shirt, feeling giddy. She grins down at Alex, who’s in the middle of lacing up her boots again, and reaches out to toy with a strand of that blue hair. Alex smiles and leans into her touch -

 

And the tool shed door flies open.

 

 

•••

 

 

Jesse Manes is all spitting fury, shoving his daughter hard, away from Guerin. Guerin sees red, and she’s once again putting herself between Alex and danger.

 

Only Manes doesn’t care, long past reason, only looks at her like anyone else in this town and sees _trouble_. None of them notice the picture frames rattling on the walls, the way the door sways a little beyond the wind's control. 

 

When Guerin hits at his chest, shoves him away, he swings the hammer at her. It catches her wrist as she raises her arms to protect her head, and she screams at the crack of bone -

 

And Alex is begging in the corner, “No, _please,_ stop - “

 

 

•••

 

 

 

It’s like a nightmare has unfolded. Isobel goes missing, and Guerin drives out to the desert caves, just in time to see Rosa Ortecho fall to the ground, Isobel’s eyes narrow and cold and unlike she’s ever seen from her before, and then she’s falling to the ground.

 

With her broken hand clumsily bandaged, the sleeve pulled long to cover it, Guerin blinks back tears as she makes the car drive forward. Makes it hit the pole, watches as it bursts into flames. Max and Isobel are huddled to the side of her, and she realizes that it won’t ever be the same.

 

In the morning, she’ll learn that Alex has left to join the Air Force. _Such a great opportunity,_ someone in town will say, _There are all sorts of opportunities for women now, especially -_ and Guerin will grit her teeth so hard it hurts.

 

She breaks her own rule, then, staring at the burning car. She wonders what if she had convinced Alex to come in her truck, instead of going back to the tool shed. If she had kept a closer eye on Isobel, if she had never stolen that guitar, if she had left Roswell when she still could.

 

But it’s not useful to dwell on the what-ifs, and so she doesn’t let herself dream of anything else.

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Ten years later, she’s standing in front of the Airstream, and Alex is in front of her.

 

The years have changed them both, but for a moment, Guerin is eighteen again, staring into the eyes of the girl that she loves. She thinks she sees something approaching that awe in Alex's face, or maybe it's just surprise. Because they've barely talked in ten years, and yet all she can think about at that moment is the memory of what it was like when they kissed for the first time, reliving it all over again, the greenish glowing light on Alex's face when she had looked at her in wonder. 

 

Then Alex’s expression shutters, her chin rising up into a more formal, authoritative position. In military fatigues, she looks older, beyond the scar on her forehead, beyond the way that she’s holding herself like she’s made of stone.

 

“The Air Force is acquiring the land,” Alex says. “You have to move your rig.”

 

“Oh?” Guerin drawls, because while the years have hardened Alex, the years have made her into an entirely different level of stubborn in turn. She slings her thumbs into waist band of her jeans, not missing the way that Alex’s eyes start to dart down, before meeting her gaze once again with more annoyance. “You gonna make me, private?”

 

“You have twenty-four hours,” Alex says flatly, before turning on her heel. Her hair is shorter, braided to a severe point on the back of her head under her cap, an arrow down into her collar. 

 

On the other side of the military truck that had pulled up, Sergeant Jesse Manes glances up. Guerin turns and goes into the Airstream lest she feel the ache of her hand once again.

 

But it’s not the only wound that feels like it’s been reopened. Guerin peers between the shutters covering the window, watching Alex give orders to one of the other soldiers there before her sharp eyes turn back to the trailer like she can sense Guerin watching her.

 

She turns back lest Alex actually see her, and she studies the mess before her. The piles of paper on the desk, the glowing pieces of her ship. She’s so close to getting off this goddamn planet, she can nearly taste it -

 

And yet, instead of diving back into work as usual, she puts the pieces back into a box. Her fingers brush a photo that she doesn’t let herself look at anymore as she packs away her work, and Guerin hesitates for the briefest second before closing up the box.

 

•••

 

 

That night, she dreams of Alex.

 

Ten years apart, and yet, she still finds herself breaking her own rules. 

 

 

•••

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @ villanellve on tumblr! feel free to drop a message / chat, I have many feelings


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